Outnumbered
by Keenon
Summary: When they boarded up the windows of that tiny shack in the suburbs of Georgia none of them thought they would reemerge to something like this... Story revamped! Slash in later chapters.
1. Plague

Hello! I wrote this whole story a few years ago and upon rereading it (can you say plot holes, grammatical mistakes, and general errors galore?) I decided that it needed a serious revamping. So I'm redoing a lot of the story. Most of it will stay the same, I might cut out a few tiny bits and add a little here and there, but I'm mostly just trimming edges to make it more presentable.

**Disclaimer**: Most of this story is just original characters, but there are a few mentions of special infected and a few canonical things in the Left 4 Dead series. Anything you recognize isn't mine.

Now, without further ado, please enjoy! Warnings and rating changes will be at the beginnings of every chapter.

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**Outnumbered**

**Chapter One**

"_The virus has completely devastated over 150 of the United State's major regions and is spreading rapidly. Be on guard of any loved ones who may have recently been in any contact with the infected. If you suspect anyone in your household is ill take them to the nearest hospital for urgent treatment. Again, this is not a drill. This has been a broadcast from the United States Department of Health and Public Welfare."_

No one wanted another run in with the infection. Not after what happened back at Darien's. That was two days ago.

No one spoke, nor did the either of the boys urge Levan to help pack up her car. Canned goods were put in the second seat alongside a few bottles of antibiotics Mark found in Ms. Hawthright's medicine cabinet. Bottled water as well as the last few cans of Pepsi was kept in a cooler on the vacant seat in the back.

The seat had had an occupant a few days ago, but he wasn't here now. So they made due with the space. In the trunk they packed clothing. By a stroke of luck Mark found that Ms. Hawthright's bureau revealed a .38 Revolver as well as a pack of ammo still wrapped in cellophane.

Levan refused to sleep alone that night and, eventually, Campbell caved and curled up on the fold out sofa with her. That night the 24 hour broadcasts shut off, anpower soon followed. Mark stumbled through the kitchen for a few flashlights Levan murmured something about, prying them from the cupboard under the sink. These too were packed into the car the next morning.

They all woke early and Campbell scrambled some cheesy eggs because "they'd go bad if we took them with us." When they hiked out to the car Mark brought the blankets, laying them out on the second seat enough to give the blonde girl a makeshift bed.

"You sleep, I'll drive." Campbell took passenger, as well as navigator. They had to drive back a few blocks to his empty Ford and in the glove box lie an atlas. And then they were on their way, AM radio droning in the background.

The 24-hour prerecorded broadcast drowned every station. It spoke of CEDA hotspots such as Atlanta, and New Orleans. Campbell marked these places with red circles before resuming a thoughtful state. Every so often he would speak up.

"Turn left here, Mark." and "Make a right after that stop sign." frequented just as often as the computer animated voice that spoke over the radio. Maybe two hours after driving Mark finally tensed his grip on the steering wheel, eyes remaining on an ominously empty back road. They hadn't seen life since noon, a black Suburban headed the opposite way.

It was almost terrifying how empty the suburbs were. Evacuation notices were strung up like fliers everywhere.

"Where are we going, Bren?" he didn't need to glance over to feel the harsh look he'd received. Joshua Campbell Bren. Back in high school he and a few friends had made it a habit to pick at the hot headed ginger. The nickname developed there. Campbell never really appreciated it, but that was half the fun.

"South, to Mableton. The Atlanta evac isn't there."

"How do you know?"

"Mark, we were there. The whole city has to be burned to the ground by now." The brunette offered a sort of half shrug, fingers flexing on the wheel. Prerecorded news still running at low volume. It was murder to listen to, but last time he'd tried to change the channel he'd received a sharp slap on the wrist by his freckled counterpart.

That certain incident had occurred two days ago, in the course of the first day they'd decided to stop in a car repair garage somewhere downtown Norcross. While Mark hammered some spare plywood on the windows Levan cracked open a loaf of bread to make dinner. Peanut butter sandwiches with chilled jelly from out of the cooler. Campbell poured over the map with a little red pen and a tiny notepad that he scrounged from out of the glove box.

His penmanship was barely readable, Mark stopped trying to read over his shoulder after a moment or so. Resigned to simply ask what it said. Campbell hummed a response, not tearing his gaze away from the paper.

When they would need to stop for gas, when they could stop for the night, when the cooler would need to be replenished, how much food they had, how many batteries for the flashlights and so on. They would also need a gun. Two handguns with about 20 shells each wouldn't do much in the long run.

The guy was a control freak, plotting their trip down to the dot. Mark had to bite back a laugh. Well, if it made him happy.

It was almost pitch black when they retired back into the truck, blankets bundled into pillows as they wriggled for a position comfortable enough to scrounge up a few ounces of sleep. It was a long night.

When dawn broke the garage was bathed in a eerie glow. Day three. Levan made breakfast silently as the boys scavenged around the garage for anything useful. They left a few batteries and a pistol richer. Yet another .38, but it was better than nothing. They at least had ammo for it, Campbell had pointed out.

Three hours later Levan settled herself in the back, flicking through Campbell's notes as he and Mark bickered about the quickest route to New Orleans.

"It's quicker to go down through Redan and hit I-85 from there."

"No, stupid, we need to head towards Douglasville and then go down from there. Plus the traffic on I-85 is going to be insane." Sapphire irises glared at a set of emerald ones. Midday sun reflected off the asphalt, it heated the car - Campbell spoke against turning on the AC for gas reservation purposes. 98 degrees Fahrenheit was ridicules to sit in whilst listening to college boys quarrel like a married couple. She had had about enough of it, too.

"Alright, stop. Campbell, going through Douglasville is quicker and you avoid the toll that's near Redan, my aunt lives in New Orleans and my parents and I used to go visit them every summer," then, in a sort of off handed manner she added, "sorry."

She wasn't sure what was worse, the actual fighting or Campbell's pregnant silence that followed with being wrong to Mark. Honestly, what were they, two?

At around three they stopped on the side of the road and ate a few more peanut butter sandwiches, Mark and Campbell tossing insults at each other whilst sharing another bottle of water. Levan was scouring the map for any familiar town. Begging herself to remember the course her father had always taken.

It had been an entire day since they had seen any other signs of life. Everyone was on edge…what happened in that week they holed out at Darien's? This was insane, it was almost unbelievable. The whole world collapsed in a week and they hadn't even been there to see it.

Everything seemed so out of place. The lack of movement, the dead stopped traffic. It stretched for miles. But there was no one there. No humans, no life. Just vacant cars. Piles upon piles of them - enough to shove their Honda over onto the other side of the road. At least the traffic going into the city was pretty thin

All the windows were yawning open, not only to sift the stale air in the cab. Levan proposed that maybe, if someone was out there, they would make some sort of noise. A car honking, shouting, anything. The radio was flicked off as they all lie in wait. In silence. And God was it awful. At maybe five they decided to begin looking for somewhere to stop.

Auburn was an enormous city, something the three of them didn't want to stray too close to. Not with whatever was making people insane going around. There was bound to be looting, shooting, killing, and God knows what else going on there. At the same time, traveling at night didn't seem too appealing. Did the freaks come out at night? The Infected?

It was a question neither of the three were willing to stick around to answer. Mark knew he should have stopped back in Opelika, but it was too late to turn back. Campbell wasn't helping much with the thought, either.

"Good going, you idiot. Levan and I told you we needed to stop."

"It was only 4, how the fuck was I supposed to know that there's no where else to stop here?" Campbell offered a short, quip laugh.

"We're on fucking the fucking interstate, not on scenic route to nowhere. Where did you think we could stop? The next 5 star hotel we saw?" Fiery sapphire eyes flicked viscously to the redhead. The effort was wasted, however as the man was sifting through the atlas book. It was only when he opened up to shoot a comment back did Levan finally say something from her seat in the back.

"Both of you shut up, God, you're like a damn married couple with all the fighting you two do," there was an exasperating huff - as well as a light flush painting freckled cheeks - before she continued, "Why don't we just turn off into Auburn and stop at the first garage we see. We've got enough food for almost two days before we'll need to stop again and we haven't seen any of those...things, since back...north."

It was still like dousing lemon juice into an oozing gnash whenever Darien's house was mentioned. Or even anything that could be linked to it. The blonde was strong, but not enough to evade utterly breaking down. They didn't really want to risk the chance.

The two boys settled upon glaring at each other before turning away; Mark to the road, Campbell to the map. Why the brunette had to be so difficult was beyond him. It wasn't as if this whole ordeal wasn't stressful enough. Calculating, planning, trying to keep Lev from breaking down. It was hellish! The last thing he needed was a roommate with a sour attitude whining at him.

Crossing off onto the bypass knotted over his stomach, cities meant people. People meant violence...and zombies. None of them particularly _wanted _a repeat of a few days ago.

"Alright, just keep an eye open for a shop 'er something," the usual, loud voice of his counterpart was atypically quiet. Pursing full lips he sifted fractionally in his seat, trying to refocus on the twists and turns of the map at hand. Force of habit bringing the butt of his pen to chew on thoughtfully.

If they kept to the interstate they could make it to New Orleans by tomorrow - not considering the traffic hold ups they'd encountered all day. More than twice they've had to stop to steer a few other cars off the road, Levan would steer while he and Mark pushed.

It was only when late afternoon began rolling around did they start hearing inhuman groans awakening around them. After that they decided to just take a bit of an off-road excursion. No one willing to get out of the car.

Honestly, he was by no means a body builder - light muscles here and there was about as good as it would get and getting out just to push around a few thousand pounds of car across a potentially dangerous highway was the furthest idea of fun he could think of.

Frowning softly he forced these thoughts away; _focus_. Evacuation sites aren't bound to last long. Atlanta must have been doomed from the start, he could only pray Louisiana was less...desolate.

It had been almost two days since they'd last seen that car headed north, and even then they didn't actually see the driver…furtively he wondered if such wasn't a bad thing. Their first run in with the plague of the 21st century had been gruesome.

How many others had become one of them? One of the Crazies? The latest news broadcast was almost a week old from what he could gather. Hell, everyone could have been evacuated out by now.

Which begged the question...

What if they were the last three alive? It weighed heavy on his conscious, sank him back into the seat. Almost reflexively he chanced a look over to his counterpart. Mark was focused on the road, eyes fixated on crowded highway, no doubt looking for the correct exit.

His lips were set into a thin line, fingers drumming some unknown tune on the wheel. He must have noted the sudden attention from his red-haired partner because his blue eyes flitted back to Campbell. Grimacing softly said man realized he had been staring. Shit.

"If we turn off up there we'll be in Auburn," It was a faulty cover for spacing out, but Mark just turned back to the road. Force of habit causing him to flick on the turn signal as he merged up the ramp. Auburn: One-Half Mile.

"Are we just going to stop at the first place we see...?"

"It'll probably be like last night, Lev."

"No, because last night we knew what we were doing," he almost regretted being so quip with the brunette, the sour look received told him he'd hit a nerve. It's not as if he didn't know Mark was just trying to help, but honestly, this entire ordeal had him on edge. The thing with Darien and the emptiness they'd seen for the past few days on the road...

That many people didn't just get up and fly off. There was a reason the whole highway was empty.

It might have been twenty minutes down the road when Levan first proposed that they should turn around, that it would be wiser to simply deal with what the night may bring rather than go a bit further into town.

"No, Lev, we need to go just a few more miles," the ginger insisted, "We can't keep driving without sleep." Because getting your full 14 hours is definitely a more pressing issue than the walking dead. It might put a bit of a downer on the day if they were attacked because Mark passed out because of exhaustion at the wheel. So they pressed on.

"Wait, stop," two sets of eyes flitted back to the blond, "Turn over there." Mark obeyed, turning into a relatively empty parking lot. Wal-Mart. A sculpted, ginger eyebrow arched into his bangs. The question didn't honestly need to be asked but his plump lips parted to say it anyway.

"Lev, why are we here?"

"There's always a repair shop behind these dumps. We can, you know, stay there for the night," she smiled, nodding at the "Garage" sign. Mark and Campbell exchanged a pointed glance. It was the latter whom voiced the silent message.

"I don't think that's a good idea," A sour expression painted pink lips at the disapproval, her brow furrowed in an almost determined manner.

"There are only like, six cars in the parking lot, we have three guns, and a half a tank of gas left. We're not going to make it to New Orleans on half a tank, Campbell. Wal-Mart sells tanks of gas and has shelter. And anyway, _you're_ the one who wanted to stop somewhere for the night." Campbell narrowed his eyes before turning back to the dashboard, flicking open the glove box wordlessly to pluck out a gun for himself.

The back was open, they found an abandoned SUV inside. Gutted of everything and anything of value. The front two tires were missing, radio gone, steering wheel in broken leather pieces - as if someone had made effort to take it and left part way through the job. The rest of the room was in disarray. Campbell flexed his grip on the revolver, finger played the trigger.

Something was here. He felt it. Like static before a thunderstorm, or a horror movie. It was a throat compressing tension that wound his body to the breaking point. Oh God. The sound of the engine cutting off made him jolt. When he glanced over Mark was already opening the door to get out. Did he not feel it crawling under his skin like tapeworm? This whole idea made him uneasy.

"Wait, Mark. Where are you going?" His hand had jerked out to grab his roommate's arm. Dark blue irises swung back to meet emerald. Immediately he let his hand drop - a grin split tanned lips.

"Calm down, Bren. I'm just going to check for some oil or something," The red head pursed his lips before turning back to the glove box, withdrawing the other .38. Silently passing it over to the brunette. He cast a glance back to an impassive Levan, she met his gaze a moment before turning to look out the window.

"Okay," his voice came out smaller than he wanted it to.

Then Mark was gone - the audible 'chink' of the back door being opened signified Levan's departure as well. He sat a moment longer, silence skirled about him. Pulsed in his ears. Stuttered his breath. When his fingers brushed the handle of the door he realized Mark had been calling him over. Focus. This was not the time to lose your head.

Forcing a deep breath, his grip tightened. Nudging the door open with his shoulder. In the other hand his grip didn't lax around the trigger. Was no one else nervous? If they were, they hid it well. Like a bad horror movie - the ones where one person knew something awful was about to befall the actors while the others remained oblivious.

But this wasn't a movie. He had never been one for acting, anyway.


	2. Infection

**Warning**: Character death.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

This whole ordeal wasn't his idea. It wasn't his plan to go to a Wal-Mart - one of the busiest stores before the Infection - nor was it his intent to actually go inside the main store to look for supplies. If anything that was the _last _thing he wanted. So why he was face to face with what might have once been human, he had no answer.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to run. But his body would have nothing to do with anything lucid. It might be the first time he's ever felt that he was going to die. Not only because he was not an arms length from that snarling thing, but because his lungs don't seem to want to fucking work. It's not like a movie, the slow motion effect is just that. An effect. Fake, fake, fake.

In reality everything sped up. It rushed upon him all at once. To run. To breath. To lash out. To do _something_. The thing moved. It was the best fucking wake up call he might have ever received. Blood rushed back into every nerve ending, it forced his legs to backpedal away from the gun aisle. To stumble around, hands catching himself on a looted shelf before he hit the ground.

And then he was running. Like a fucking lunatic. If he was lucid enough maybe he would have realized he was screaming, maybe he would have had the damn sense to stop. To consider that maybe they were keen on hearing - like in the movies. But he wasn't lucid. He was running for his fucking life from what used to be a young blonde cashier. It gargled at his heels.

Zombies aren't supposed to be fast. Campbell never thought he'd have to look into that theory, but it seems to be flawed. He also never thought he'd have to learn how to fire a gun. For the first twenty-one years of his life he never bothered to even look at one. They were barbaric. Baseball was enough to give him the upper body strength to take on someone at least a few sizes up than he was. That was sufficient when in a group after hours on campus.

It wasn't now.

By the time he managed to find Levan and Mark - whom decided to stick together - there were three. Their garbled snarls were too close. His two counterparts turned to see the cause of his panic and if he had been coherent enough he might have seen the color drain from both of their expressions. Might have seen Mark fumble for grip on his handgun and take aim. The sound alone nearly stopped his heart.

The loud crack followed by an undeniable 'thump'. The sound of human flesh plodding lifelessly to the hard linoleum. Gargles of something trying to suck breath into fractured lungs before liquid choked it. Oh God, he was going to be sick.

"Get back to the car!" It was Mark. His voice pitched with something akin to terror. His large hand curled itself around Levan's arm as he spun her around, immediately breaking into a sprint. College football had been generous to him, his long legs making quick work.

There were more behind them now.

Campbell told himself not to look back but instinct screamed louder. His heart nearly stopped. Five...six...seven...Oh God. The door was open to the repair shop. Levan and Mark were in before he was, their eyes wide.

Then it got hazy. He knew he had to get the door shut so he turned around and grabbed out for the handle. What he hadn't counted on was to meet face to face with one of those things. There wasn't time to scream.

He swung instinctively, there was a sickening crunch with the impact. If it was his knuckles or the beasts' nose he couldn't tell. It crumpled to the ground. But it wasn't dead. When brutally strong digits curled around his ankle this was made painfully clear. When heated breath kissed the exposed flesh there his heart stopped.

To his credit, he didn't scream.

The bite was enough, however, to break skin. He knew he was fucked. When he slammed the door on the fucker's head. When the crunch of skull being fractured resonated in frantic silence. When gasps of death gurgled in the things' throat. When he kicked it out the door to shut it entirely. When Mark ran up behind him with a chair in his arms to barricade the door with. He knew.

But Mark and Levan didn't. And _God, _he doesn't want to die - not like Darien with a bullet through the damn chest. He doesn't want to be put down like a fucking dog. Oh God, he wants to live. Wants to stay and comfort Levan. To be with Mark (because roommates don't just fucking leave each other). Not them. They fight, and they're friends. What if this is the last time they see each other?

The question weighs too heavily on his shoulders to ponder upon for too long. When he looks up Mark is exchanging a look with Levan, grinning almost idiotically. He turns to Campbell before a laugh bubbles up - light weighted.

"Oh my fucking God, we're all alive," a soft, almost insane laugh hitches from the small blonde girl. Wound to the breaking point - as if she didn't entirely believe they were all still intact. It barely registers when he's bundled up in a pair of strong arms and spun around. He's hesitant to hug his counterpart back. His leg is still bleeding. God help him. He silently prays that they don't look down.

When he pushes at Mark's chest he's put down. Grinning sapphire irises meet his somber ones. For the sake of keeping an image he forces a smile, grip instinctively flexing on the gun that's supposed to be there. Somewhere in his mind it registers he dropped their .22 back in the gun aisle. He isn't willing to go back to check for it. There will be other weapons.

But they wouldn't need three for that much longer. What did the transformation feel like? Was it like dying? Painful and heart stopping? Or was it like having the flu, where you begin with a sneeze and end with insanity? His voice is unintentionally sharp when he mentions that it might be best if everyone got back in the car and they drove away that night.

He told them that he would drive.

Of course it's only because he knows he isn't going to get any sleep that night. How long does it take to transform? A day? An hour?

Or did it take minutes?

Would he be a monster in the next twenty minutes? Would he wreck the car, killing Levan and Mark? The thought made the lump in his throat knot over once more. He forced a swallow while making his way silently over to the driver's seat. Maybe offering to stay up wasn't a good idea as he had once thought.

There wasn't much room to back out as nervous fingers plugged the key into the ignition, twisting it into life before tossing the car into reverse. His ankle itched. The blood had began clotting, drying. Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please, help him now. He swallowed back a wave of nausea, trying to play off the glossy sheen his eyes had taken on as the overhead lights in the parking lot.

Levan shuffled in the back for blankets to pass up to Mark, who was currently fishing around in the glove box for God knows what. It was all comforting things - things he had become accustomed to over the past few days. Their little makeshift home they'd built in the car. A thin rope hung in the back, a few clips for clothes were clipped onto it. Laundry would hang there, when time came. There were other home-like touches.

It was already almost natural and it was only night three. That thought was sobering. It was night three and he was going to die. Just like Darien. Just like all those poor bastards still in Wal-Mart. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. His grip flexed on the steering wheel as he backpedaled through the dark streets of what was once downtown Auburn. It was sobering to see the aftermath, the burned buildings. The desolation.

And the highway would be no less deserted. No less gut wrenching. No less painful. For the first time in two days he flicked off the radio. There was no need to listen to it anymore. It wasn't as if he couldn't recite it by heart, anyway.

-o-

He could feel questioning eyes on him but it was so easily drown out by the dull throb in his ankle. To this he flexed his grip on the steering wheel, driving on the shoulder. Too many cars were piled up on the main road.

The next morning he was exhausted. But lucid. God, he was sane. Still waiting for some greater force to suddenly leap upon him and shred any coherent thought to bits. It made him nervous. Edgy. Mark woke up more than once during the night asking if he wanted them to switch but after Campbell finally turned to him and told him to kindly 'shut the fuck up, please' he quieted. Rolling over whilst mumbling something about 'beauty sleep' or something.

There might have been a thousand other things on the redhead's mind at the time. What if the bite didn't make him insane? It had been a good four hours since their run in with the Infected. But what if it took longer than four hours.

How long did it take Mrs. Kendrix? Longer than four hours. He wasn't in the clear yet. Was it even possible not to become one of the zombies? If so, why would he be any different? He was just a dumb college student trying to get a degree in computer science.

Question upon question. It made his head hurt, but he was too scared to take any painkiller. Ibuprofen might speed up the process - who fucking knew? He, for one, didn't want to find out the answer. The dashboard read 4 a.m. when Mark finally rolled over in the seat to look at him. It made him nervous. Was his roommate suspicious? Did he know? Oh God, he didn't want to die. He drummed his fingers on the wheel.

"Bren? You ok? You seem a bit...edgy,"

"It's the apocalypse, Mark," it seemed like a good enough excuse. He didn't need to glance over to see the crease of thought that knotted Mark's brow. He knew it was there.

"You weren't like this yesterday,"

"It hadn't set in,"

"What is there to set in?" he wanted to bash his head against the windshield. Why couldn't the brunette just drop it. Instead he flashed his counterpart a brief glance before turning back to the traffic, weaving in and out of open space.

"Everyone is dead, Mark. We could be the last three people alive," he was talking out of his ass - fuck, he could be quoting a movie, for all he knew to care about. It did sound familiar. Maybe it was some movie he'd seen on HBO last week. Who cares. As long as it gets Mark to shut up and sleep. The silence that ensued was pregnant. It knotted his gut.

"I know," the seriousness that painted a once jubilant tone was enough to cause the redhead to glance over again, but Mark wasn't looking at him. He was staring out into the headlight bathed highway.

Nothing moved except the shadows but that didn't mean there was nothing out there. His ankle throbbed at the thought. He was practically itching to look at it, to see the damage with his own eyes. To see what will kill him.

Once more his stomach knots over. He doesn't want to die. Twenty-five years is no life - _hell_, he's barely started. Forcing back a wave of hysteria he drummed tunelessly on the steering wheel. Calm. He just needed to chill out. Deep breaths. Somewhere in the back of his head it occurred to him that this must be akin to an inmate awaiting death row.

Utterly Helpless. Because what could you do when a mutated virus is slowly eroding away at your innards? The thought sent his stomach aflutter once more. Oh God, he was going to be sick. It was past dawn when Mark finally put his foot down and demanded to take the wheel. Their spat woke Levan whom groggily sided with Mark. In the end Campbell found himself staring, exasperated, out the passengers' window. He was tired.

But this might just be the last morning he ever sees with lucid eyes. The image of buttery sunlight yawning across miles upon miles of abandoned cars made his stomach knot over. He's going to die in desolation and no one is even going to care.

Because who was there to care? What if everyone else in the world was already dead? What was waiting for them down in New Orleans...? Campbell found he almost didn't want to know - somewhere in the coherent part of his mind he noted idly that he probably wouldn't ever find out, anyway.

Their drive into the afternoon gave no leave on the redhead's wound nerves. It almost got to the point in which he would dip into hysteria and oh God his ankle festered. Like an ominous warning. A promise for later. Nothing made him more nervous.

It was like eight grade all over again, when Kevy Brandon would wait outside his last period before lunch and rough him around until he had gotten lunch money - like in every bad cartoon. The wait was always worse than the actual beating.

The next thing he knows is lurching forward, seatbelt half strangling him. A sharp, pained yelp from the back seat signified Levan was having similar problems. Instinct had him turning to jerk around, eyes livid as they sought Mark. Preparing to yell. His roommate beat him to the punch.

"Oh my God." Sapphire irises were comically wide as they gawked out the window. Staring at something. It was silhouetted by the dimming light of evening but it was undeniably human. What set it out was the fact it was sitting, huddled on the hood of what was once probably a truck. Waving almost frantically over towards them. Something else coated in shadow emerged from the cab of the truck. It seemed to stumble sleepily a moment before it, too, began to jolt at their Honda.

"Is that...?" Levan had sat up in the back seat, her head poking through the gap between the drivers and passengers seat. When Mark cracked his window a voice called that was once muffled by the glass. It was muted but there was no room to deny.

"Hello?!"

-o-

Levan was making peanut butter and jam sandwiches while Mark sat everyone down outside the car. Passing a water bottle to the newcomers from their dwindling resources. There were two of them. The woman was tall, brunette. Slim with an athletic build and a sunken expression in her hollow hazel irises. The man was no better off, his strawberry blonde hair matted with grime and God-knows what else. His dark eyes were no different than his company's.

There was a few moments of tense silence as the brunette stared intently at the bottle Mark extended to her before slowly, cautiously, she snatched it from him. Her movements were jerky. Uneasy. When Mark finally sat back on a scrap of heap metal to crack open his own shared bottle of water Campbell simply shook his head when it was offered at him.

What if he was contagious? Would Mark catch whatever he had by sharing water?

"So...do you two have names?" Mark was the first to talk after a pregnant silence. The couple exchanged looks before the girl finally spoke up.

"I'm Kristine and this is Joseph," she nodded at the man briefly, sunken eyes continuing their nervous flick around their circle. Mark had pulled the Honda into park across from their wrecked truck, creating a sort of hollow where they now camped in the lamplight of a spare lantern. The fluorescence cast dark shadows about their faces in the now dying embers of what was once a day. It had gone by too quickly. With its' passing Campbell's nerves only wound themselves further.

It had been 23 hours since it happened.

"I'm Mark, and that's Campbell and Levan," Mark gestured towards each of them respectively, Levan finally slipped out of the back, five sandwiches stacked together on a paper plate. Silently she passed them to the newcomers before turning back to her boys. Campbell faintly noted his hand was shaking when he went to grab the bread. Nerves. "What are you two doing out here?"

There was a long, pregnant silence. Kristine had turned down to her meal, nibbling at it with calculated bites. Joseph was almost done - his face coated in crumbs as if he hadn't eaten in days. And he probably hadn't. The two strangers exchanged a hesitant glance before one finally spoke up. It was Joseph.

"We wrecked," he began slowly, Mark nods encouragingly after another pause, "Coming up from Louisiana two days ago."

"Why?"

"Because Philip wasn't immune," it took a moment for the implications to settle in. As if understanding the confused stares Joseph glanced at the driver's seat in the car. The silhouette of something most definitely human sat brokenly there. Levan gave a quiet gasp.

_Oh_.

Campbell was going to be sick, his stomach rolled over twice. He forced back yet more hysteria, trying to cover his rising panic with a bite of his sandwich. Their driver had apparently turned as he was driving the car and here they were, stranded and starving. Would it have been like this if he had turned? Oh God.

"…Immune?" Levan's voice was quiet, inquisitive. Both of the strangers snapped their attention nervously to the blonde before Kristine nodded.

"You know, to the virus," Campbell stiffened. Immune? There was such thing? He tried not to appear too interested with another bite of strawberry jam and gummy peanut butter. Rolling it over with his tongue before he swallowed to speak.

"What exactly is immunity?"

"What does it sound like? You get bit and you don't turn into a flesh eating meat bag," his stomach fell out all over again - except this time it was with anticipation. The faintest flicker of hope.

"How do you know if you're immune?" he hoped he didn't sound too forced. A shrug.

"If you're still alive on the third day you're in the clear," the boy confirmed. It was Mark's turn to speak up.

"And you two are immune?"

"I am, we don't know if he is," Mark nodded when Kristine gestured to Joseph. He was rigid all the while. Flickering a glance towards Campbell, scrutiny muted by sunken brown irises as he went in for another, far more controlled bite. Said redhead turned his attention to the two brunettes, forcing back a mouthful of food. Suspicion rising like hysteria in his throat. Calm down. Deep breaths.

"Are you all immune?" It was Joseph. His throat tightened around the sandwich. The swallow was rough as he forced back down coughs at the unexpected question. When he finally opened his mouth to snap at the man for being nosey Mark was already speaking.

"We don't know," he shrugged, biting off another chunk of sandwich. Kristine lifted an eyebrow before she spoke up once more.

"You don't know?" she repeated almost incredulously. Mark shook his head at the inquiry.

"We don't know anything, right now. We just left from a place up in Georgia a few days ago,"

"So you don't know about the infected?" Mark offered a short, barking laugh at the ridicules note painting the woman's tone. He waved defensively in the forced humor, a good natured smile still playing his lips.

"Oh, no. We've had a few run ins - we're headed to New Orleans for some answers," before he could finish his sentence Kristine was laughing. There was no humor in her tone.

"New Orleans? That evac was overran the second week of infection," Mark didn't laugh. There was a pregnant silence as Joseph and Kristine continued to eat the last few bites of their sandwiches. Overran? Mark caught his attention in stunned silence a moment before he turned back to the two strangers.

"Overran? You're sure?" there was just more mirthless laughter on Kristine's behalf. It was edgy, almost maniacal. It sat unwell in the pit of Campbell's stomach. He forced back a few more mouthfuls of bread before he put it down on the plate. His stomach wouldn't settle for any more food. He was too nervous.

"Sure? We were just there. We lost _four _people," her voice was cold, her hazel irises were dark once more with something akin to cold humor. But there's nothing funny about the situation. The first thought that flicks through his head is how 'Oh God this woman is insane.' Forcing a tight smile he stood from the scrap metal he'd previously been sitting on.

"I'll be back in a minute," All eyes flicked over to him but he needed to get away.

"Where are you going?"

"To piss," Joseph was at his feet in a moment, dusting off the seat of his jeans almost casually. Campbell narrowed his eyes, "What?"

"It's not safe going alone and I've got to go too," _You fucking liar_. Instead of saying this, however, Campbell simply pursed his lips into a tight smile as he nodded curtly. It wouldn't look good for him if he refused the other man. Raise suspicions. This was not something he'd like to do. He meandered away from the soft hum of the lantern as Mark tried to awkwardly patch up the conversation.

It was weird. Feeling those scrutinizing chocolate irises trained to his back as he walked, rigid around an abandoned SUV. When he glanced back Joseph was turned around, glancing over the cars as if checking for something. The redhead mocked a swallow, his dry throat clenching at the lack of saliva. He unzipped quickly, stifling the urge to glimpse back around to his unwanted counterpart. It made him nervous. Stripped. He was zipping back up when it hit him.

The force powerful enough to shove the breath from his lungs, to stumble him till he was shoved against the SUV. A lanky hand pinched over his mouth to stifle the noise that threatened to bubble out. Emerald irises widened almost comically before it registered that he should struggle. So he did, jerking forward just enough to free himself from a stronghold. Joseph.

"Wh-what the fuck man?!" Dark, chocolaty eyes were trained on his own. Narrow. Calculating once more. Then the blonde had a grip on his arm, rolling it around forcefully before dropping it and grabbing for the other - repeating the process. It was only when the man was on a knee, digits threatening the hem of his left leg did it register what was going on.

He's looking for the bite. He fucking _knows_. Campbell yipped before jumping back, kicking out with the leg. Trying to dispel offending digits. Joseph was quicker, yanking a healthy grip on the stained denim before shoving away the fabric. It scuffed against the wound; instinct told him to hiss out in startled pain before he began struggling once more. But the damage was done. He saw it in the man's eyes.

Footsteps running towards them brought him back to reality, Mark.

"What the hell is going on?!" Joseph was at his feet in seconds, pointing an accusing finger in Campbell's direction.

"The bastard is infected!" It was about that time Levan and Kristine rounded the bend to see what was going on. It made his skin crawl, all eyes turned to him. Self-consciously he shoved down the leg of his jeans. Not that it did much to help the situation. Oh God. Sapphire irises sought his own, they were wide. Confused. His stomach flipped over for the umpteenth time.

Guilt. It washed through him, spread like wildfire through his veins. Hurt shone in his roommates' eyes face. He forced his gaze away, turning to Levan. Her eyes were equally wide, a sense of deja-vu brimmed him. It started with Darien and now another of her group is going to die. She looked on the edge of tears.

"Bren...?" He cast his gaze to his feet. Dirty converse that might have once been black. Now, however, they were so coated with grime and filth the color was almost indiscernible. Uncomfortably he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Four sets of accusing eyes staring at his flesh. "Why?"

Almost desperately he turned back to Mark. Why what? Then it occurred to him. _Why didn't you tell me?_ His brow creased a moment before silently he sent a plea at Mark not to take it like that. Didn't he know how fucking scared he was? What torture he's endured the past day? Knowing he was going to die while utterly powerless to stop it?

Of course not. He couldn't know that terror. That knowledge. His voice was almost indecipherable when he spoke. Emerald irises never breaking contact with their counterpart.

"I don't want to die." The crack in his voice made his nerves rattle uneasily. He turned away once more, unable to hold that gaze any longer. It was too much. A snort from his side startled him slightly. The fucking blonde; who's dark brown irises were narrowed, arms folded. And then the anger came - like a rush. Campbell wouldn't be backed in this corner if the motherfucker had just kept to his own business.

Olive fabric of the stranger's shirt was bundled in his fist a moment later, his face but mere inches from the bastard's. Dark irises that were once blasé and unamused were now wide. Shocked. At one point in time, Campbell noted in the lucid part of his brain, he might have been offended at his own actions. Three days of running for his life must have screwed with him. Or it could be the infection. Not that it mattered much anymore.

What did matter was beating the fucker to a pulp for doing this. Exposing him. The more he thought about hurting his roommate the more his anger grew. The more it hurt. They had been friends since high school. They stuck it out through till college - hell, they roomed together because of it.

Eight years. Four years of beating eachother up in high school and four more of sitting in the dorm drinking Monsters and cramming studies before the next mornings' test. Of playing PS3 and eating Twizzlers while discussing that hot chick in their Biology class. Of sharing an awkward bed together trying to figure out what the hell what was going on through inexperienced touches. It never went any further than that.

"Campbell!" It was Levan, her tone painted with concern - fear. But he wasn't ready to stop, his fist cocked back. Ready to fight…and then there was the sound. A sputtering whirr. The three were frozen - Joseph struggled away and made to rush back to the cars. The car. There wasn't much thought before the three turned tail and rushed after the strawberry blonde to their car. It was running, Kristine in the front seat turned to the passenger's side where Joseph was trying to get in. Then things began to blur together - like a movie.

One moment Mark was behind him, the next he was at the car door. One of their revolvers at hand. Where had that come from? Wide eyes flicked over to Levan, her focus remained on the chaos. Mark was yelling something. It took him a moment before it clicked that he was screaming for the brunette woman to get the hell out of their car.

Her dark irises were narrow as she made to unlock the door, eyes not leaving the barrel of Mark's gun. His fingers played dangerously on the trigger. Promising nothing good. The tension was thick enough to choke. Campbell almost found himself jumping when his roommate put a trembling hand on the door latch, jerking it open with an uncalculated yank. He could practically see the heated nervousness painted on that tan face.

Pursing his lips he forced himself to focus on the much taller woman slowly dipping out of their car. Her motions were almost feline - the only indication of her anxiousness was the slightly off rise and fall of her chest. That and the way her maniacal hazel irises flicked around as if she were planning to take flight. Like an animal. And maybe she was. What if this was what the infection did to all the survivors? The thought alone made him nauseous.

"What the fuck do you think you're fucking doing?!" The sharp tone that painted normally such a mellow tone made him flinch. It was terrifying. His attention turned back to the woman, her focus, however, was fully upon Mark. Specifically, the gun. Maybe if he had been more coherent he would have seen her rock back - would have seen the glint that painted her dark irises.

But he didn't. And when she sprang it was like watching a horror movie. The loud crack familiar only to gunfire split tense air. He couldn't suppress the visceral jolt backwards that sprang upon him.

With horror he watched as the brunette's body toppled to the ground, an expression of utmost shock painted her sunken face. Oh God. Oh God what have they done...? Wide eyed he turned to look up at Mark. He was shaking, eyes locked to the other side of the car.

Campbell followed his vision and watched tentatively as Joseph - eyes equally large - slowly backed away from the car. Those dark irises flicked immediately to the ground once he made his way around the front bend of the Honda. He visibly stiffened as he was met with the form of his partner. Dropping every semblance of caution as he dropped to her side. The pool of scarlet was gathering on the concrete.

"Get Levan to the car," it took him a moment to realize Mark was talking to him. The look veiling his brunette friend was indecipherable as he stared down at Joseph, whom was pulling the body that was once Kristine's into his lap.

Pursing his lips the redhead forced his gaze around to where Levan stood. Her attention was at her feet. Face unreadable before he reached out to nudge her arm. She flinched before it registered that it was just him.

Without speaking he nodded towards her car, pointedly taking her around to the passengers side. Keeping his attention ahead of him rather than at the ground. At the body. His hand was shaking on the latch as he pulled at it. Jumping when he felt a hand clasp over his own. Levan pulled gently at the door, opening it and then her own. Slipping silently into the back to rifle in the cooler. Gingerly he shut the door behind her and slipped into his own seat. Afraid to speak.

When the cool wetness of a water bottle nudged his bare arm he flinched once more, flushing when he realized what it was. His nerves were wound to the breaking point. Unscrewing the cap suddenly seemed like an unfeasible task. In the end he settled on passing it back to Levan when she prodded him. Watching intently as she cracked into the plastic and passed it back up. He nodded a thanks before swallowing down two mouthfuls.

Mark was silent as he slipped into the car, tossing the gun down into the empty cup holders in between the two seats before churning the keys - already in the ignition. The engine sputtering to life sliced through the discomfort. As if it shouldn't be there. The air was stifling enough. It wasn't until they were turning off onto the shoulder when Campbell allowed himself to look back at the scene they left.

Joseph stood now, face solemn and defeated. Solely silhouetted by the thin strips of morning light. The heap that was once human lie motionless at his feet.


	3. Aftermath

**Warning**: Nothing but a little cursing, but you all expected that, right?

* * *

**Chapter 3**

It must have been noon when the silence amongst them was shattered. Mark had pulled over at the closest rest stop so they could eat a tense breakfast of cold beans. Levan offered in a whisper to share hers with Campbell so Mark could have the boys' entire can to himself. Campbell politely declined her offer, whispering that he wasn't really that hungry anyway. No one raised their voice. As if speaking in anything above would alert some horrible being.

Mark was utterly stoic through the entire meal, staring blindly into the brown beans as if they were. More than once Campbell found himself staring. Trying to catch his roommate's eye. It was a fruitless effort but he found he couldn't stop. Never before had he felt so…cut off. So alone.

The bite had scabbed over nicely. It had been 32 hours now, almost halfway to the 72 hour mark for the infection to take over. He was trying not to get his hopes up, honestly he was, but with the prospect of being immune now being tossed up in the air it was like a beacon of hope in a stormy sea. At the same time, even though he hasn't felt anything that would indicate he was changing, that didn't mean it wasn't happening.

In a feeble attempt to fill his time (and his mind with something other than worry) he sifted through the atlas book, spending a good hour trying to re-mark a new path while Levan slept in the car. He had moved to sit out on a picnic table to avoid disturbing her. Spreading all his work out before him, Campbell sat. New Orleans was out of the picture. So where did that leave them? Mentally he scanned over the known Evac stations posted.

New Orleans and Atlanta were most certainly overran and going back East would be pointless. Huston must be swamped as well - and Austen? Fort Smith? Grand Junction? Wendover? Where did the infection stop? Did it stop? His ankle throbbed almost imperceptibly, reminding him that he should be panicking.

Pushing up from the bench he shut the atlas book with almost more force than necessary. Fifteen miles from Montgomery, a little more than three-fourths a tank of gas, and potentially infected. Pursing his lips he turned to the car, tossing around the idea of sifting through their things for medical supplies.

In the end he found himself sitting back down next to a crummy box of first aid that had the bare basics.

Nudging around the container he fished out a roll of gauze, some alcohol, cotton swabs, and a few packets of Neosporin. Emerald irises flitted downwards to his ankle confined in his skintight jeans, he gently peeled back the denim. It looked more disgusting than he'd might have anticipated. Festering and swollen red around 38 individual indentations - dark with clotted blood. The inside of his pants leg suffered the brunt of the downpour. They would definitely stain.

Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand he swallowed back a wave of nausea. It didn't _look _infected, but what would he know? He was in college to become a computer engineer. Not a fucking doctor. Somewhere in the back of his head he noted faintly (and not without a hint of bittersweet irony) that wasn't Darien supposed to be into the medical field?

Not that made any difference now, of course. He found himself unable to stifle a hiss of unfiltered pain as the cool kiss of antiseptic swallowed his burning ankle. Holy shit. It chewed at the ragged edges of each scar, snuffing at the blooming infection that swelled the skin. It pulsed liquid fire through his veins. Sweet Lord.

"Do you need help?" he almost jumped at the sudden voice. Mark. Shakily he turned upwards, green irises meeting those sky blue ones. The brunette was already making his way towards the table Campbell was sitting on. Moving to take the cotton swab and bottle of alcohol from his roommate's surprised grip. With practiced profession he dipped the white material into the foul bile and swiped it across the wound. The redhead flinched at the unnecessary force. Perhaps he deserved that.

"Dude!" But it wasn't like he was going to take it sitting down, of course. Mark didn't even offer him a passing glance as he repeated the action twice more before Campbell instinctively jerked down and grabbed his wrist. In-pained tears pooling in his eyes as he glared. "What the fuck, man!?" The brunette didn't bother screwing the cap back on the bottle before he slammed it down on the table, uprighting himself as it sloshed dangerously.

"You fucking tell me what the hell has been going on with you the past two days," blinking back a few more tears from the sting in his foot Campbell frowned.

"What else do you want to know? I was fucking bitten,"

"You know that's not what I mean," of course he knows what Mark means. He wants to know why he wasn't informed about the bite sooner. As quickly as his roommate's rage bubbled over it snuffed out. Like a paper fire. It burned hard and died fast. The worn expression he now sported, however, wasn't much better than the previous one. Fiery sapphire was but a dull reminiscence of what it was moments ago, "I thought you trusted me."

"Don't you dare pull that card on me, Mark."

"Then why the fuck couldn't you tell me?"

"I was fucking scared, okay?! You don't know what it's like - waiting to die. And what could you have done anyway? Shot me down like a fucking dog?" It was more of a one-sided fight now, his loud voice seemed out of place against his brunettes' placid one. Mark narrowed his eyes at him, pausing as if to gather his thoughts.

"I wouldn't have shot you,"

"Like you didn't shoot Kristine?!" there was an expression of shock painting that tanned face and Campbell knew he overstepped himself. Immediately he pursed his lips, rocking back in his seat to sit upright rather than in Mark's face. For a moment there was silence before the brunette pushed out of his seat, eyes had narrowed once more into thin slits. There was nothing to say - even if he apologized there wouldn't be much good in it. It didn't hurt to try, "Mark, I - " A raised hand silenced him.

The taller boy simply shook his head before turning back to the car where Levan stood, her back leaned against the door as she sipped on a water bottle. Watching them. He knew she had been listening but her expression betrayed nothing. Just a dull deadpan that she fronted every time they knew she was hurt. Their fighting wasn't really helping the situation, but then again, what really would?

They were almost surprised when Levan's soft tone rushed out, quiet but full of authority. Almost exasperated, even. She told them to go away, that she wanted to get undressed to clean herself off and that she was sick of smelling gross. That they could go check out the rest-stop building to see if there was running water just in case, and not to come back until they had. Neither boy complained.

It was suffocating, the silence. It made Campbell want to rush back to the truck and hide. Honestly, if Levan hadn't been the one asking for privacy he probably would have. But it was probably for the best not to test her; no matter how stable she seemed she still just lost her fiancé not a week ago and was now struggling to live in a zombie apocalypse. Suddenly, it seemed, his feet were very interesting for he couldn't tear his gaze away.

"Look Mark, really," might as well try apologizing again - if anything it would ease the guilt coiled in the pit of his stomach. Mark didn't kill her in cold blood, he did it for them. To keep the car and to live. "I'm sorry for what I said back there. Totally not oka - " And then his breath was gone, knocked from his very chest.

His back hit hard on the red brick that was the side of the vending machine building, his head snapping into it from whiplash. In a blink there was a firm warmth pressed against him, pinning him back. Two calloused hands twisted themselves around his own, pushing them above his head as Mark shoved close. So close their breaths mingled in the cooling air.

"Shut the fuck up, Bren," then the anger hit - along with realization that this was his roommate pressed chest-to-chest with him. His ears heated with the knowledge but he shoved such a thought to the back of his head. There were better places and times to get flustered over nothing. Snarling he began to thrash in that strong grip - toned by years of high school football and ultimate Frisbee.

"Dude! I'm just trying to fucking apologize - get your nut out of your ass and just fucking take it! I can't fucking go back in time and stop myself."

"Take it?" The redhead's ears grew yet hotter with embarrassment. There might have been a better way to explain that sentence. They are college boys. Sex jokes are pretty much still the go-to venue of humor.

"You know what I mean," for a moment Mark was silent, he could almost see the cogs in his head turning. Whirring to life. And then he couldn't see anything. Just warmth. Reaction immediately told him to lock up - to stiffen and hold his breath. Like he was expecting an attack. Instinct, however, told him to push closer and lap at the mouth that had sealed itself over his own.

Mark and he had kissed before. Of course it was just at Jessica Crawl's dumb spin-the-bottle party, and they might or might not have been a little intoxicated, but it was still a kiss. And it had absolutely no ground in comparison to this. Campbell never really was one to give sexuality much thought - and in a zombie apocalypse, it was an awful time to begin. Sure, he and Mark had...experimented, back in the dorm. But there was no kissing.

Kissing was for fags.

Which he, of course, wasn't. Who said two straight guys can't touch if they're a little on edge…? Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he's trying to rationalize being shoved into a wall by his ex-roommate and thoroughly ravished. This thought he pushes away almost immediately. Trying to refocus enough to breathe as Mark retreated.

When the brunette pushed away he remained still, back pursed against the rough red brick. It snagged at his stained tee shirt and scuffed his back. Motherfuck. By the time he collected himself enough to be coherent Levan was already calling them back to the car. Mark didn't offer him a passing glance as he turned back to the road. Strolling on as if nothing had just happened. Unconsciously, Campbell found the bridge of his nose wrinkling before he followed suit. Tomorrow was bound to be a long day.

-o-

47 hours.

It was hard to pay much attention to anything. Levan wanted to stay at the rest stop for a few days. He didn't think it was such a swell idea, but after some insistence and a few pointed looks down at his freshly bandaged leg, Campbell got the point. Sucking his lower lip between his teeth he chewed nervously. There wasn't much else to do than sit and wait.

54 hours.

Waiting, he decided, was fucking terrible. 0/10, would not recommend.

60 hours.

It was difficult to receive those nervous glances flitting over to him from the smaller woman. She looked nervous sitting next to him. After a bit of deliberation he stood and walked to the other side of the camp. At least over here they would have more time to whip out a pistol and off him if that bite suddenly decided to kick into overdrive.

70 hours.

He didn't feel any different.

72 hours.

If anything his leg only itched a little bit, across the campsite Mark and Levan snacked on a bag of cheetos and talked in a hushed tone. Glancing up at him every so often. If anything was going to happen, it would now.

74 hours.

He didn't want to hope, but it was creeping through his skin like infection. Hope and for his immune system to keep him running. It had never failed him before - even through a particularly bad spell of pneumonia when he was six.

76 hours.

It sank it's claws deep. Like a disease creeping through his veins, infecting the people around him. It overwhelmed like a damn tsunami and swept the three up. Even Mark, who was pointedly ignoring him, seemed a bit antsy. Two more hours and he'd be in the clear.

78 hours.

-o-

It may have been two days after the incident at the rest stop - including the day and a half it took to argue exactly what the hell they were going to do now. In the end it was mutually agreed that they would drive up towards I-22, from there on they could sort out everything by ear. They were headed, over all, to the West coast. Towards Wendover, Utah, and, if that evac is out of the question, on over to the bay in Cali.

Not exactly the best of all plans, but it was the best they could do in the time span of a near-sleepless twenty-four hours of straight driving. Out of Montgomery up towards Germantown. The last time Campbell bothered to look up from the atlas at hand was when a granola bar was shoved in his face along with a cup of yogurt from the cooler. Levan had insisted that they should crack into the cold food before the ice melted entirely.

Which brought even _more _dilemmas. Food. Or their lack there of. The redhead found himself chewing at his lower lip at the thought alone, the soothe of 'Iris' lilting from the speakers did little to help his frayed nerves. After their last mishap at Wal-Mart he found himself almost reluctant to stray too far from the Honda. It had almost become a safe haven of sorts.

Forcing his attention back down to the map at hand there were quite a few circles indicating cities right off the highway. The choice of which one they were to go upon, however, was an entirely different dilemma. Byhalia, Olive Branch, Mineral Wells. Languid emerald irises flicked a short glance to the clock. 4:26. Pursing his lips he turned his attention over to Mark.

"Pull off on the next exit," he pointed. Sapphire irises fluttered over to him as if to say he'd heard, and then nothing as Mark went right back to ignoring him. Disheartened, Campbell turned back to his lap. Mark was, if anything, still on uneven ground with him. If because he had lied or...other reasons, he wasn't sure. What he did know, however, was that it was a helluva lot quieter with Mark subdued.

Settling on pursing his lips he sifted uncomfortably before twisting around to look at Levan, who was currently staring out the window. Blankly watching the world outside fly by. Light, almost bleach hued, blonde hair framed her face. Thick lips set in an almost permanent pout. Her dark, hazel eyes pulled themselves away from the windowpane when she realized she was being stared at.

"Hm?" he honestly just wanted to kill the silence. Offering her a fleeting, desperate look he smiled.

"Do you have anything you want from the first gas station we stop at?" in return she gave a sympathetic smile. She knew what he was trying to do. At least she wasn't shooting the attempt into the dirt as Mark appeared to be doing. Which utterly sucked. He inwardly shoved this thought aside, there were better times and places to pout about the brunette's sudden silence.

"Sure, we could do with more Gatorade," when she smiled dimples appeared. Just like Mark's... Goddamn it. Immediately the redhead shook himself - internally of course - mutely reprimanding himself for even allowing the blue eyed man into his thoughts. Again. There were plenty of other things he could be thinking of, "We could all go in and look around." She offered, as if as an afterthought before glancing pointedly at the back of the brunette's head.

Campbell pursed his lips and shrugged. Not honestly putting much hope into the idea. He allowed himself a peeking glance up to said man. He said nothing, the only indication of his conscious being the tan digits drumming to some wordless tune on the steering wheel. Campbell turned back to Levan.

"Yeah," his voice lacked commitment. She offered one more sympathetic glimpse before she turned her attention back to the fleeting scenery as Mark turned off on the ramp down to the small town of Mineral Wells. It would be about fifteen minutes before they decided to pull off into an empty Chevron. It was stifling - how quiet it was. Almost eerie.

Campbell was the first one to grab the revolvers from the glove box, passing one to Mark placidly before handing the other out to Levan. Instead of taking it, however, her dark irises simply widened. Turning her stunned attention up to the red head and back down again before shaking her head almost vigorously.

"I can't shoot," she sounded almost terrified. The man frowned softly before nodding, flicking back on the safety and stuffing it into the back of his jeans. Just in case she changed her mind. Mentally he noted that he'd have to teach her at least the basics... or he would need to get Mark to. The brunette knew more about guns than he did, anyway. Without entertaining the idea further he pushed his way out of the car pausing only to inhale through his nostrils, the air outside wasn't as stale as it was in the Honda.

The glass doors groaned in displeasure when Mark yanked at them, they were unlocked. Nerves gripped at the redhead, in turn he adjusted his grip on the revolver at hand, his gut churning anxiously. If it was because they had left the car or because of instinct, he wasn't sure. All he did know was that he just wanted to get in and get out as soon as humanly possible. He almost physically jumped when Levan spoke up.

"Do you think they have a bathroom here?" Mark glanced over a shoulder to her, apparently startled by the whisper as well. They still weren't entirely sure they were alone. After a pause his husky whisper resonated back.

"Yeah, take Campbell with you to look, I'll check for anything useful over there," he nodded in the opposite direction, towards aisles of packaged foods. Campbell wanted to speak in protest at the blatant order. Instead he settled upon biting his tongue and turning to follow the blonde woman towards the largely printed 'restroom' sign. The last thing they needed right now was to fight over whose pants are bigger.

His finger played on the trigger when they arrived to the door marked 'girls'. Levan cast a glance back at him, silently asking a question that he didn't pick up on.

"Are you going in with me?" He blinked in utter shock. Go in the girls' room? With her? For a moment he stood there, blanching in the silence before it occurred to him that she was asking if he would check the stalls for zombies. Inwardly he smacked himself for even assuming anything otherwise.

"Uh, sure," he murmured lamely, readjusting his grip self consciously before starting forward, nudging the door open with a shoulder. Levan followed like a shadow, he could practically feel her breath. He felt stupid for being so uneasy about coming in the ladie's room. Maybe because even though he was in fucking college, it was still taboo to go into the girls' room... Or the fact that there could be something lurking in said bathroom.

Whichever came first.

Motioning for Levan to stay by the sinks he began his trek to the three stalls, kicking each open in turn before readying himself to shoot. He repeated this twice more before nodding over to the nervous blonde. She offered a half smile before strolling over into the first stall, whispering a quick thanks before telling him he was welcome to wait outside if he wanted. Campbell simply nodded, sauntering over back to the door before pulling it open. Stepping out only to freeze.

It was standing on the other end of the store, in front of a door torn off it's hinges. It wore a tattered, blue employee's jacket stained with gore and sick. It was obviously inhuman. But that didn't make his heart stop like the monster's face. Or at least, what was left of it.

Bulbous tumors bubbled out of it's sickly gray skin. They oozed up from the neck and they all but consumed what used to be a man's face. A long, greasy looking ponytail tied down low swung behind the monster. And the tongue. It lolled out of it's mouth. Grotesque and dangling like a pendulum as the beast rocked from side to side

And the smell. Oh God, the smell was enough to leave a man gagging. The single visible glowing eye wasn't trained on him, though. It was on something else on the other side of the store. Mark. His eyes widened as he realized the monster's intent.

It happened quickly, the thing - whatever the hell it was - coughed a lung wrenching hack before it cocked back. In all of two seconds the tongue sprang to life. Slipping out meter after sickly meter before it ensnared its' victim. Emerald irises watched the scene unravel in utter horror. The slick appendage began to retract, and like some sick fisherman the monster reeled in a terrified looking Mark.

He was at a blank. It was as if the gun in his hand was no longer there. Oh God, oh God. What the hell was he supposed to do?! It didn't occur to him that he was moving till his throat snagged with the overwhelming stench. How close was he to the beast?

Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that he shouldn't be running full out towards the infected, ready to bowl into it and knock it off balance. He should be careful, should be standing back and taking aim at the things' head to pick it off to simply end the entire terrifying escapade. But Mark was too close, a clean shot would be nearly impossible. And the way he kept howling for some sort of help. God, it disabled every proper judgment he might have had.

The tongue must have coiled tighter about the man's neck for Mark was silenced to simple gagging noises. The beast must not have noticed, however, Campbell rushing towards it till the redhead was bowling it into the dirty linoleum floor. His first instinct was to attack, once he found himself on top of whatever the hell this thing was he obeyed. Cocking back his right hand and swinging, the skin beneath his knuckles felt leathery upon contact.

Disgusting. The monster choked out a cough before flailing its' tumor-ridden arms. Groping out to slash its' attacker. He immediately swing again for the beasts' face, the side without the deformation. There was a sickening suction type of noise as the jaw snapped up, biting off its' own tongue. And then there was a deep gasp for air behind him as Mark was offered enough slack to breathe again.

Somewhere in the lucid half of his brain he heard the bathroom door swing open, compiled with a soft, feminine squeal. Footsteps thudded behind him until Levan was at his side, in her hand the gun he'd dropped in his flurry. What returned him to sanity was the loud crack that split the air.

Beneath him the tumorous monster lie still, its' temple oozed crimson from where the bullet had entered. Wide-eyed he turned his gaze upwards to the offender. Dark, chocolaty irises stared back at him, just as wide before she dropped the revolver. Spinning on a heel to rush over to where Mark sat coughing.

"Are you ok?" her tone trembled as she fell to the a knee beside him, shaking digits lifting up to intertwined around him.

Campbell stared at the pair before glancing back to the body he was still straddling. It's sickly cloud of smog lingered even in death, forcing a cough from his lungs. Slowly he pulled himself off the body, bending back down to pluck up the gun. Turning it over twice in his hands before flipping the safety back on and stuffing it back into his jeans.

"'M fine," Mark's tone was shaky, he coughed softly once more before readjusting himself, "Thanks Lev." She looked at him a moment, as if waiting for him to continue. When he said nothing she shook her head.

"It wasn't me who saved you," and with that she stood upright to stride over towards the aisles of plastic wrapped food, almost casually as if she'd been there the entire time. As if absolutely nothing just happened.

Campbell watched in silence, shifting his weight awkwardly as Mark turned his attention to him. The cloud of smoke was slowly clearing enough that he didn't feel the need to cough out a damn lung. Instead he pursed his lips, offering a tight smile only to find that the brunette had already turned away and was pushing up from the ground. Standing to go retrieve his own revolver.

Immediately he frowned, brow creasing. He had just saved this bastard, was this honestly how he was being repaid? Damn, he would settle for even a short 'thanks'. No, this would certainly not fly. Before he realized what he was doing he found himself behind the brunette, grabbing said man by the shoulder to jerk him around to face him.

"Hey asshole, I just saved your life. You can thank me now,"

"Thanks, then," he could have said it with a shrug. This did nothing to placate the turbulent redhead. Campbell wanted to fucking punch the nonchalance right from his ex roommate. Instead, however, he settled on simply growling aloud in displeasure. Almost threateningly.

"What the hell is wrong with you man?" he swallowed back the urge of violence, his strength beginning to dwindle with the dissipating adrenaline rush. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that they were being watched this time. Levan not-so-blatantly stared from underneath a fringe of blonde hair as she pretended to read the expiration dates of the packaged goods. Every now and then she would stuff something in the plastic bag she'd lifted from behind the desk.

"Nothing. What made you think I have a problem?" the accusing tone offered a different message. This did nothing to quell Campbell's already flared temper.

"You're acting like a fucking girl," this caught the brunette's attention, Mark jerked around, red in the face, as if he was going to say something. Before he could speak up, however, Levan was at their sides. Two bags at hand, both filled to the brim. She was frowning, her usual empathetic expression was now unimpressed. She looked exhausted.

"I'm ready to go. There are some gas cans we might need later. Go pack them, Mark. Campbell, you take this bag." She ordered, passing him the heavier bag of the two. He blinked twice before he realized she'd simply plopped the object into his arms, spinning on a heel and marching back to the car. A frown marring his features. Casting a glance over to Mark he busied himself with following her, not bothering with another glance back to the brunette who was making his way over to the two red canisters.

-o-

The silence didn't get any less stifling as the day droned to a close, the Goo Goo Dolls had stopped running and Levan pressured them to change the album. It sounded like some sort of Indie band now and Campbell didn't personally recognize the band. Not that he gave the matter much thought, however. He was more focused on trivial matters such as getting to Wendover and motherfucking Mark.

The bastard still wasn't talking to him, but now he had an excuse to be angry right back. Mom used to say that 'two negatives don't make a positive', but dammit she wasn't here right now and his ex roommate was being unreasonable. Ridiculously so. There was absolutely no excuse to act like such a dick for _three _fucking days. There was a line to be drawn somewhere and this one should have ended at least two days ago.

For a good hour this chewed at his conscious, brewing unpleasantly while he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking his displeasure aloud. God knows he wanted to. It was probably for the best if he waited at least until Lev was asleep. Suddenly reminded of her he tossed a glance over his shoulder.

Said woman's drowsy hazel eyes were glued to her feet as she relaxed back against the frame of the car. Behind her sat one of the pillows they had packed, the one she had claimed as her own. It must have been woman's intuition because it took her only a moment to realize she was being watched. Jerking her attention from her sock-clad feet up to the redhead. Offering a short smile or recognition before she settled back into her makeshift bed.

"Do you want a pillow, too?" at least it seemed like she was in a better mood. Levan fortunately wasn't really one to hold grudges. Or maybe she just had other things on her mind . Things that were more important than he and Mark's petty fighting. The latter seemed like a more feasible answer.

"No thanks," he shook his head slightly, giving a curt, unconvincing grin before he turned back around to the dash. A collection of clutter had blossomed in the past week. Gaggles of empty monster cans and little brochures from various rest stops they'd collected - for the maps in them of the smaller towns - littered what was once a pristine car. The back wasn't much better off.

Stray articles of clothing from previous changes lie on the ground while in a few tied off bags sat their trash awaiting to be thrown out at the next stop. Wrappers and other odd items collected in crevices that were once clean, ruffled blankets and sleepwear were rolled behind Mark's seat. It was a disorganized organization. Oxymoronic, true, but it the clutter was more comfortable than anything.

"Alright," it was like a dismissal as Levan sifted for a comfy position across the seat buckles, pulling at the sleeping bag she'd unzipped into a blanket. It was far too big and pooled out across her thin frame down the seat and over the edge into the puddle of dirty clothes. They'd need to find somewhere to wash them sometime sooner or later, but he could worry about clean clothes later. Right now he had more important things to focus on.

Like Mark.

He turned up to the source of his problems, frowning deeply. Said brunette passed him a glance before realizing his mistake and turning immediately back to the road. What? His frown smoothed fractionally. Mark didn't really seem all that hostile - more exhausted than anything.

"What the hell has been your problem the past two days?" his tone was more somber than anything. Where had all that anger gone from just moments ago? Pleading emerald irises sought out sapphire ones. His ex-roommate pointedly avoided his gaze, keeping his eyes glued to the road. He made the mistake, however, of glancing back over to Campbell. Their attentions caught and it was like a floodgate was broken.

"You honestly thought I could just kill you and be done with it back in Albany?" his tone was softly accusing, more quiet than anything. Campbell blinked, frowning once more.

"You're mad about that?" it seemed almost ridiculous. Mark cast him a more confident, silencing glare before turning back to the road. It was growing to be pretty dark, the dash read 9:26. Campbell tore his attention from the front back to Levan a moment, her chest rose and fell slowly with sleep. With more confidence he turned back to Mark. At least their conversation would be private.

"Not really. I've been more mad at myself," that is most certainly _not _the vibe he's been getting personally. Nonetheless, Campbell settled on simply nodding. As if in silent encouragement before he realized the brunette's attention had flicked from him up to the rearview mirror. To Levan.

"She's asleep," he confirmed. Mark licked his lips briefly, as if he was gathering himself, before nodding as well. Allowing those dark sapphire irises to flutter back up to the road before them. It was silent for a moment as his counterpart seemed to collect his thoughts. It lasted for a good five minutes before Mark spoke.

"For a while I told myself I could do it, you know, kill you," he paused, once again he was struggling for words, "but the more I thought about it the more…frustrated I got." Campbell listened in utter silence. Chewing at the inside of his cheek the redhead pursed his lips. Mark was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Drumming his fingers awkwardly against the steering wheel.

"Why?"

"Because I figured out I couldn't do it," Mark frowned deeply, brow creasing in displeasure as his fingers stopped their movement. Settling on the leather of the wheel in an almost placid manner. Campbell slipped his bottom lip between his teeth. Tension building in the gut of his stomach. How do you respond to that? The feeling of something akin to relief brimmed him, but he wasn't sure if that was the right reaction.

"That's why you've been mad?" Mark flashed him a look.

"You could have turned into a fucking zombie! Fuck, you could have tried to kill us in our sleep - what if you tried to kill Lev?" he took a deep breath as if to calm himself before turning back onto the open highway, since they'd left the interstate down to Louisiana the car traffic had dried up considerably. They no longer had to drive on the shoulder to simply get by. Beside him Mark swallowed, "What if you tried to kill Lev and all I could do was just sit there and fucking watch."

He almost wanted to say something but when he parted his lips to speak he found that nothing came forth. The bite had scabbed over nicely, and without the lingering threat of becoming a zombie hanging over him anymore it was easy to forget about it considering everything else going on. It took a moment of gaping before he simply shut his mouth, settling back almost guiltily to listen once more. Mark didn't give him much opportunity to form a coherent sentence as it was anyway, almost immediately the brunette picked back up. Restating all of Campbell's previous worries.

"And then those fucking hitchhikers. God, I killed two people_. Sane _people," Mark swallowed once again, as if his throat had become painfully dry, "Oh my God, Bren. I...I really don't know what I'm doing anymore."

It was maybe the first time the redhead found himself loving the nickname his friend had given him. It was just too damn weird to be called Campbell by Mark. Which was silly, but all the time he'd been pretending to hate being called his last name it'd become something between he and the brunette. Almost cautiously Campbell reached a hand out, words once more failing him, as he put it on his ex roommate's leg. For a fleeting moment Mark jolted, turning to look at the intrusion of his thoughts before he relaxed. Returning his attention back to the road, seemingly less… edgy.

"You two done kissing and making up?" the feminine voice that sounded from the back made both boys tense, Campbell jerked back his hand so quickly it was as if he'd been touching fire. Eyes wide, said man jerked around to see Levan rolled around to face them. Her wavy hair astray as it fanned across the pillow, her eyes at half lidded with sleep. Inwardly he mourned his luck, of course she'd been awake. There was a moment of almost awkward silence before Mark snorted, laughing aloud for the first time in days.

"Yeah, I think we're good,"

"Good, 'cause I can only deal with so much manperiod in one week," and with that she was settling back into the nest of blankets, her expression betraying the fact that she seemed much less anxious as well. Slowly, almost tentatively, Campbell found himself grinning in honesty for the first time in days. Twisting back around he turned to Mark for the umpteenth time.

"So, are we stopping somewhere tonight?" he asked, happy to change the subject. Mark just shrugged.

"I'unno. I still have about half an hour left in me if you wanted to pick out a place to stop," it was Campbell's turn to shrug as he moved to open the glove box in which they kept the atlas. Skimming through till he found the dog-eared page he'd been scribbling upon. There was a rough idea of the route they wanted to take in deep red ink. In the corner of the page he noted where he must have gotten bored and doodled a few nonsense pictures.

"Where are we?"

"Dunno, I think I saw a sign that said Humansville was 8 miles back there, but I might have read it wrong," Mark wrinkled his nose, "Seriously, who would name a town 'Humansville'?"

"Maybe it's a sign? Only humans can stay in Humansville," Levan sounded from the back.

Campbell rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the map, squinting slightly in the dim light of the dash before reaching back and flicking on the light. Humansville, then came Osceola and then Clinton.

"If we can get past Osceola then there's probably somewhere to stop in Clinton." He offered up a half smile before pursing his lips at Mark's somewhat confused expression.

"Whatever you say, Bren."


End file.
